Wrong Turn at Nantucket
by Darthishtar
Summary: It's Harry and Ron's first time Apparating to America, but they miss their target. Latenight White House chaos ensues. west WingHarry Potter crossover.
1. Chapter 1

It had been a long day, three international crises had been narrowly averted and Jed Bartlet had just barely fallen asleep when he was jolted from his slumber by a loud cry.

"RON, YOU GIT!"

For a moment, he thought he was dreaming, but none of the Japanese jugglers in his dream had been speaking in British accents. Abbey, apparently under the same impression, muttered something in her sleep and rolled over.

"It's not my fault! You were supposed to be the one aiming!"

"You were the one who argued about where we were going to land!"

"Hermione's going to have kittens. No, on second thought, she'll probably set Ginny on us."

"Hey! No bipping! That bread was home-baked by your Mum and I only have one head."

"Well, I think your one head should get checked, as we DEFINITELY weren't supposed to end up indoors!"

"Besides, you don't throw bread or anything else at men with guns!"

"Oh, is _that_ what they look like? Brilliant. Dad would love one of these!"

It was rare to hear a heated argument in the residence that wasn't between Jed and Leo, but this one seemed to be causing some kind of alarm. A moment later, a thud sounded and he guessed that one of the Secret Service agents had neutralized at least one of the threats. It was followed by another thud and a rather loud "OW!!!"

Jed struggled to his feet and found his bathrobe, careful to not wake Abbey by making too much noise. There was still a great deal of talking going on outside, but it seemed to be less vehement in nature.

Finally, he opened the door cautiously to find the entire Secret Service detail surrounding two bound young men. One was redheaded and struggle, while the other tried to push his glasses up his nose with his bound eyes and blew a lock of messy black hair out of his eyes in exasperation.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," the bespectacled one said calmly. "We're not here for any sinister purposes."

"I suppose that's what you were instructed to say," Agent McAdams snarled. "Don't worry, you'll have your chance to say it to the judge."

"A Muggle judge," the redhead snarled. "Oh, THAT makes me feel better! Brilliant, just brilliant, Harry!"

Something about that word, Muggle, jogged a memory and he let out a quiet sigh of understanding.

"Shut up, Ron. You're not helping things!"

"Shut up, the both of you," Agent Forester snapped. "McAdams, separate them and take them out of the residence for questioning."

"Yes, sir," McAdams replied.

"Not to worry, Mr. President," Forester said gruffly. "We've got this under control."

"I'm sure the situation's in very capable hands," Jed said solemnly. "They are not to be harmed, understood?"

"Yes, Mr. President," Forester responded. "The worst we'll do is make them fill out paperwork until we've got your go-ahead."

He nodded in agreement. "Can I get an escort down to the Oval Office in about two minutes?"

"Yes, sir," Forester responded. "Two agents will be ready when you are."

Three minutes later, he arrived at the Office, having explained to Abbey that he was going to have to meet with the British envoy. Gathering that this was Lord John Marbury, she had given him a fortifying kiss and promised to keep some medication on hand for his headache.

He had, of course, notified Charlie. He was, other than Debbie and Leo, the only person on the staff who knew about these sorts of meetings and the 'envoy' rather liked him. He would be able to handle the situation with grace.

Instead of reaching for the phone on his desk, Jed went to the portrait of Louisa Adams that had been hanging there for far too many Presidential administrations. He would have had it removed in favor of something by Monet or Whistler, but he had been under express orders from the previous President to leave it be.

"Mrs. Adams, it's that time again."

"If you must, sir," she said in a disgruntled tone. "What shall I tell her is the matter?"

"We seem to have collected a pair of her folk in my private residence," Jed said. "My guards would like to send them off to Australia if that's still allowed, but I'd rather not let them overreact more than necessary."

Louisa shuffled from the frame with a slightly arthritic hobble. There was nothing left to do but wait and hope that McAdams hadn't started waterboarding just yet.

A few moments later, there was a knock on the door. "Come in."

Charlie opened the door, admitting a tall woman in red robes. Jed bowed formally to her before turning back to Charlie.

"Call Agent Forester," he instructed. "We'll need to see the young men who were taken into custody within the next five minutes."

"Yes, Mr. President," he said dutifully. "Would you like me to notify anyone else?"

_What, wake up half of senior staff to say two British chaps dropped onto my carpet at midnight?_

"Let's keep this quiet, shall we?"

Charlie had to struggle against a grin. "Yes, Mr. President."

A moment later, he closed the door and Jed turned back to his visitor. "Thank you for coming, Director Graves."

"My pleasure," the Director of the American Wizarding Union said formally. "Thank you for not hexing first and asking questions later, Mr. President."

There was no need to point out that he could not have hexed first if he wanted to. There was a single witch in the Secret Service and she was assigned to the First Lady's morning detail.

"Well," he sighed, "they were unarmed except for a loaf of rye bread that nearly beaned one of my agents, so we were more inclined to find out what exactly they wanted."

For the first time since he had met her on the first night after the inauguration, Denise Graves looked sheepish. "Well, sir, I don't believe they wanted anything."

Surely, those men were not here as tourists. Not at midnight in the residence, anyway.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, sir, I Disillusioned myself and checked on them before coming here," she explained. "Their names are Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter and both of them are sort of international heroes to the wizarding world."

"They were involved in the most recent war, correct?" he asked, recalling a previous conversation.

"Somewhat," she said. "By our standards, Harry Potter personally did the equivalent of single-handedly assassinating Osama Bin Laden."

Jed's jaw dropped open, but for all his skills as a speechmaker, he could only breathe out a single "Ah."

"And Ronald Weasley was instrumental in the battle that brought that about," she concluded.

"In England?"

"In Scotland, actually," she corrected, "but they are both citizens of the United Kingdom and employed by the British Ministry of Magic."

By this time, his mind has caught up to his mouth. "So, how did two heroes end up in my upstairs hallway, Director?"

"I was to meet with them tomorrow, as they are here for the International Conference of Aurors."

"Aurors," he repeated.

"Dark wizard catchers," she clarified. "They're quite skilled at it and Mr. Potter was to lecture the Conference tomorrow morning."

"Assuming that they are not here to do me any harm, I'm sure he'll be able to keep his speaking engagement," Jed assured her. "Did they miss their plane?"

A blush darkened her pale cheeks. "Actually, they chose to Apparate to Washington, but _missed_."

"By how much?"

"Thirteen miles," she informed him. "Cross-oceanic Apparition isn't an exact art."

He managed a wry smile. "I should think not. When they were aiming for an entire continent, I'm amazed they came within thirteen miles at all."

Her smile matched his and the blush faded. "Yes, Mr. President."

"Now," he said, pushing to his feet, "shall we go see to your two heroes?"

Charlie was still waiting in the outer office, browsing a webpage that Zoey had tried to introduce to Jed's "favorites" list—the LOLCATS. Personally, he didn't see the attraction of bad grammar and frightened kittens, but he rarely understood his youngest daughter these days.

"Have you spoken to Agent Forester?"

"Yes, Mr. President," Charlie replied calmly. "He reports that the dark-haired one is being quite cooperative, but the freckled one is currently singing..." He consulted the notepad with an arched eyebrow. "'A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love'?"

"Oh, Merlin," Director Graves groaned.

"It sounds as if we should intervene," Jed said calmly. "Let them know that Mrs. Graves and I are on our way."

"Yes, sir."

He let Director Graves precede him from the office, and then turned back with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry to interrupt your card game."

"It's all right, Mr. President," Charlie chuckled. "C.J. was winning."

"I trust you with this sort of thing," he explained.

"Yes, Mr. President," Charlie said, nodding. "Though I must say you're like a thermal exhaust port. For weird."

There was a brief silence as he attempted to translate that, but after a moment, he gave up.

"I'll see you in the morning, Charlie."

"Good night, Mr. President."

The two men were being kept at the Secret Service's station in separate rooms. Director Graves knocked on the first door and it was opened to reveal the dark-haired young man flanked by two agents.

"Hello," Jed said genially, extending a hand. "I'm President Bartlet."

"Harry Potter, sir," the man said, looking thoroughly mortified. "I can't tell you how sorry I am at our mishap."

From the next room over, Mr. Weasley began singing again.

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts,_

_Hoggy warty Hogwarts_

_Teach us something please_

_Whether we be old and bald _

_or young with scabby knees..."_

Harry grimaced. "Sorry about that, Mr. President," he said flatly. "We were told to use distracting techniques when captured by the enemy."

It was a sensible tactic in theory. There was just one flaw in the plan.

"Did anyone mention to him that we're not the enemy?" Jed asked Agent Simmons.

"Yes, sir," she assured him. "He replied 'wibbly wobbly timey whimey.'"

"I'll speak to him," Director Graves promised. "Mr. Potter, I'm Director Denise Graves of the American Wizarding Union. We spoke on the phone."

It was remarkable that two people who could vanish into thin air would use a telephone. Then again, some of their kind were more sympathetic to conventional inventions than others.

"An honor to meet you, Director," Harry said. "Are we in much trouble?"

"Not much," she said with a grin. "As far as breaches in the Statute of Secrecy go, you could not have chosen a more secretive place to Apparate to. If President Bartlet orders it, no one else need ever know that you were here."

"Given your benign intentions, I think we can report this confidentially as 'no harm down' and let you go with a warning," Jed suggested.

"I doubt it'll go unreported," Harry said with a wry grin. "Everything I say ends up in the _House Cup_ somehow."

"One of our newspapers," Director Graves explained. "One of the less reputable ones at that."

"Well," Jed sighed, "your secret is safe with me. Agent Simmons."

The agent stepped forward. "Yes, Mr. President."

"Would you bring Mr. Weasley in here, please?"

"Certainly, Mr. President."

A moment later, Agent Simmons returned with Ron Weasley. Jed extended a hand, which Ron stared dubiously at.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley. I'm Josiah Bartlet, President of the United States."

Ron looked ready to burst into song again, and then caught Harry's eye. That seemed to calm him a bit and he shook Jed's hand cautiously.

"Ron Weasley," he said. "I suppose this midget has told you everything?"

"I suppose he has," Jed confirmed. "Normally, we do not look lightly upon people who suddenly enter the White House at this time of night without an invitation, but Mr. Potter has explained the mistake."

"So, we're not being arrested?" he asked eagerly.

"Not tonight," he deadpanned. "Where are you two staying while here?"

"The Renaissance D.C. Marriott," Harry answered.

"A fine hotel," Jed commented, "though if I recall, their room service leaves something to be desired."

"I wouldn't know, sir," Harry replied.

"Well, as it is, I would like to apologize for the way you've been treated," he said graciously. "We don't like to greet foreign heroes with guns."

"I hope not," Ron exclaimed. "Otherwise, I'm staying on my side of the pond from now on!"

"We hope that you will feel free to come visit our fine country again," Jed continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "By way of apology, I'd like to invite you to dinner tomorrow night at the residence. Would that be satisfactory?"

"Most satisfactory, Mr. President," Harry said, sounding immensely relieved. "What time shall we be here?"

"Does six o'clock work for you?"

"Yes, sir," they chorused, looking rather shell-shocked.

"In that case," he concluded, "Agent Simmons and Agent McAdams will be happy to see you safely to your hotel. Good night and enjoy your conference."

He paused outside the door, nodding to Forester. "See that all of them get home safely."

"Yes, Mr. President," Agent Forester said dutifully. "Good night, sir."

The last thing he heard before leaving the station was Ron's parting shot: "Blimey! Wait until Mum finds out!"


	2. Chapter 2

"I...he...is he _kidding me?_"

CJ was frankly speechless, which was something quite impressive even after the day she had. The press briefing had ranged from negotiations with a South Korean capitalist to a proposed bill outlawing school uniforms. She had dealt fairly well with Josh's latest moment of honesty, Sam's latest fling and Toby's tendency to piss off _someone _in every meeting he attended.

When Charlie stopped into her office to say that she was expected at a dinner in the residence tonight, she had treated him with as little impatience as she could possibly manage. Furthermore, she had been _very _polite when she stated that the President really didn't want to stand between CJ Cregg and her pajamas and a pint of Haagen-Dasz. Charlie had glibly replied that it was an order, not an invitation.

"CJ, CJ, CJ," he said with a grin, "I'm telling you that you don't want to miss this."

"He's not making chili again, is he?" she pleaded. "I don't have time to get antacids from CVS before it closes."

"Nope," Charlie assured her cheerfully, "but Lord Marbury is coming and he does hope that you will be sitting by him."

She was reluctant before. Now she was adamant and frankly angry that Charlie was playing this sort of joke on her.

"Absolutely not."

As he did whenever she refused a friendly executive order, Charlie cast his eyes heavenward and stuck his hands in his pockets to wait it out.

"CJ..."

"Absolutely NOT!"

"He's not that bad."

"Yes he is."

She could tell that this was quickly going to devolve into something more appropriate to a playground. It was imperative that she take control of the situation fast before she lost her focus.

"Don't you _remember _the Christmas party?"

"He was just being friendly," Charlie defended His Lordship.

"He was friendly enough to have one too many martinis, pinched my 'sizable derriere' and dragged me to the mistletoe 'in the name of continued good relations between our two fine countries.' I didn't like him much in the first place and now I just want to file a restraining order against his English charm."

"There'll be wizards."

She blinked. If she left now, she could probably get through a pint of hazelnut before midnight and that _ might_ just redeem the day. All she had to do was find Charlie treatment for whatever had made him say such a thing or bully him back to the Oval Office.

"Will there be Binky the Clown and a pony, too?" she deadpanned.

"I'm not joking," he said in kind. "Apparently, it was only a matter of time before something like this happened."

"CAROL!"

Her assistant immediately appeared with an anticipatory cup of coffee in her hand. CJ accepted it and drained it in one long pull, and then handed it back.

"Thanks," she said. "Show Charlie out, will you?"

"Seven o'clock," Charlie called over his shoulder. "I'll show myself out."

"Is Leo still in his office?"

"Last time I checked."

"Let Margaret know I'm coming," she instructed. "Charlie's in one of his _humorous _moods again and Leo's the only one who can put the fear of God into him."

Without further explanation, she grabbed her coat and briefcase and made a beeline for the Chief of Staff's office.

"Hey," Josh said as Margaret let her in. "You coming tonight?"

She stopped short, looking at his slightly bemused expression as she might regard a pipe bomb. "You're in on it, too?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Leo called from the desk. "I met one of them back when I was Secretary of Labor. Strange, but pretty nice."

"One of what?" she demanded.

"Wizards," Josh interjected. "Didn't _anyone_ ask about the intruders at the residence last night?"

"The..." She blinked once more and shook her head as if to clear it. "The _what?_"

"Someone always seems to find out," Josh said dismissively. "I thought someone might have said something..."

"Josh, I swear to God, if you've been within _spitting distance_ of Charlie in the last twenty-four hours, I'm getting you fired."

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "I'm impervious" and rocked happily on his heels.

"So, I'm heading home to change," he said to Leo. "Does he want me to bring anything? My magic wand, maybe?"

"_Out_," CJ growled.

Josh just grinned, shouldered his backpack and headed out.

"All right," she said to Leo, "do I really have to be there and is Lord Marbury _really_ going to be my dinner guest?"

"Cheer up," he encouraged. "He thinks I'm the butler."

"And he thinks I'm the lascivious chambermaid," she retorted. "Why on _earth_ am I expected to be there tonight?"

"Because the President asked you to," Leo said flatly. "It'll be nice."

"Nice? It'll involve Lord Marbury and, according to every prankster on the east coast, _wizards._ How will that be nice?"

Now he was grinning in the same silly way that Josh had. "It's not a joke, CJ."

This was the same sort of attitude he adopted on Big Block of Cheese Day. This could _not _end well. In fact, given the resemblance, she should have probably run for her life about an hour ago.

"And you won't tell me why unless I come entertain Lord John?"

"Seven o'clock," he said simply. "You'll love it and there's not a chili recipe in sight."

That left her an hour and a half. Problem was, she had no idea what you were _supposed _to wear to meet a wizard.

_Maybe a pair of ruby slippers?_

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

"I don't know," Ron muttered grumpily. "What do you wear to meet Muggles anyway?"

"Don't worry," Harry said, adjusting his tie and casting a glance in the mirror, "I talked to a Mrs. Landingham this morning and she said dress robes would be fine."

"Maybe with our own lot," Ron retorted, "but this is different. Sure we can't call Hermione again?"

Ron had recently discovered the wonders of a cell phone and had already used it to timidly explain to Hermione just how they had garnered an invitation to dine at the White House. After she had finished sending them the electronic equivalent of a Howler, Hermione had lectured them both for a good half hour on etiquette. As a result, they had both been subjected to haircuts, had their dress robes serviced at a slow-moving one-hour dry-cleaner's and had owled the AWU twice for ideas on what to bring as a gift. In the end, they had resorted to a British wizarding classic and hoped that it wouldn't cause an international incident.

"What time did they say they'd send the car?" Harry asked.

"Six thirty," Ron replied. "I told them we could Apparate, but they weren't too keen on that."

"Can't imagine why," Harry said with a grin.

Ron glanced nervously at the gift-wrapped box that they had been lucky enough to find in the city's equivalent of Diagon Alley. "Do you reckon we should have gotten them something more stuffy?"

"No," Harry replied with a grin. "Director Graves thinks President Bartlet has a sense of humor."

"We'll find out, then," Ron sighed.

Before Harry could find something suitably reassuring to say, there was a knock on the door. He opened it to find Director Graves standing there in a set of dark-red dress robes.

"You're ready," she observed. "Splendid. I have the car waiting downstairs."

"Great," Harry said. "Ron, since it was your idea, you bring the gift."

He had initially wondered why they had been told to be ready half an hour beforehand, but once they reached the security checkpoint, it became clear. They had to be scanned and Harry managed to stop Ron from submitting his wand for inspection, but just barely. After that, there came the waiting.

Some five minutes later, an energetic man who looked something like a tall house-elf in a Muggle business suit strode quickly across the foyer and stuck out a hand.

"Leo McGarry," he introduced himself enthusiastically. "You must be Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley."

"A pleasure to meet you, sir," Harry said respectfully.

"Call me Leo."

"I'm Harry Potter."

"And I'm Ron Weasley," Ron added, shifting the box to the other arm so he could shake hands. "Is your Mas..."

Harry elbowed him hard in the ribs. "Thank you for having us."

"Our pleasure," Leo responded. "If you'll come with me, the President will be meeting us upstairs."

As soon as they reached the elevator that Harry remembered from the night before, Leo leaned forward to press the button and Harry shot Ron a warning look. Ron looked positively confused by that, but didn't argue. Director Graves simply looked vaguely amused.

"How are you enjoying your stay?"

"It's been great," Ron answered. "We've been stuck in meetings all day, but tomorrow, we get to play tourist. Mum's made me promise to bring her back something 'stylish.'"

"Good luck with that," the older man said sincerely. "What sort of things does she like?"

Ron looked as if he hadn't considered this, but more than likely, he hadn't. He usually left that sort of thing to Hermione and Harry could practically see the phone bill lengthening as Ron scrambled to think of something.

"Er, pointed hats and kitchen supplies," he said at last.

Leo considered for a moment, obviously accustomed to be helpful on such matters, but at a loss in this case. Finally, he grinned again.

"Good luck with that."

They left the elevator a moment later and the guards grudgingly let them pass without comment. President Bartlet stepped out of one of the rooms that they had not passed on the way out last night and approached with the same level of enthusiasm as Leo. Apparently, they were something of a novelty around here.

"Harry, Ron," he greeted. "You don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

"No, Mr. President," they said, accepting his handshakes in turn.

"Come on in," he invited. "I hope you don't mind, but I invited a few friends."

That was a bit of an understatement. The room was filled nearly to capacity with people who were either ignoring them entirely or staring in curiosity.

"Lemme get you introduced," Leo said to Ron.

"I'll get Harry started on the rest," President Bartlett added. "This here..."

He gestured to an exasperated-looking woman who looked as though she had been cruelly subjected to a Stretching Charm.

"This is CJ Cregg," he explained, "and she thinks that we're playing a terrible sort of trick on her."

"Harry Potter, ma'am," he introduced himself.

"Welcome to the White House," CJ responded. "Have you heard that there are supposed to be wizards coming?"

"Really," Harry said with a straight face.

"I didn't believe it either," she confided in a low voice. "The men around here think they have a fine sense of humor."

"Hmm," Harry responded, recognizing that he wouldn't be able to keep a grin off his face much longer.

"So, what brings you to America?"

"The annual conference of the International Confederation of Aurors," he said plainly.

"Aurors," CJ responded.

"Yes," Harry said. "We work to catch dark wizards."

Her jaw dropped a few centimeters and for the first time that day, he began to truly enjoy himself.

"Want to see my wand?"

aaaaaaaaaa

"Gerald!" the dapper chap said jovially as they finished their rounds.

"Leo," Ron's escort corrected. "Lord John Marbury, may I present Mr. Ronald Weasley."

"Ah, a Weasley," Lord Marbury said approvingly. "Seems to be one of you everywhere I go."

"I know a couple of Marburys, too," Ron said in an effort to be pleasant. "Hermione works with a Mary Marbury."

"My mother's sister," he told Ron.

That explained a lot. Mrs. Marbury was the first person Hermione had ever described as barking.

"Of course, my mother's family was much more involved in..."

Lord Marbury leaned in conspiratorially, eyes narrow.

"..._your _world," he concluded. "She was a Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" Harry interrupted as he and the President met them coming from the other direction.

"Yes," Lord Marbury said turning his attention to him. "Did you know any of them?"

"Albus and Aberforth," Harry replied.

Lord Marbury nodded sagely. "I only had the pleasure of meeting them once," he said. "Distant cousins, but quite entertaining fellows."

That said, he seized Leo's elbow and steered him off in the opposite direction.

"Now, Gerald, run and fetch me a drink. Dry martini, one olive..."

"Barking," Ron muttered to Harry. "Both of them."

"Well, you've met his aunt," Harry replied. "He seems to think that Leo's the butler."

"Don't blame him," Ron chuckled. "I thought he was the house-elf."

"Well," President Bartlet interrupted, "we'll have plenty of time to compare notes later, but I think dinner is ready."

He turned to face the rest of the people gathered, who had also heard dinner mentioned. "If I can have your attention?"

The room fell silent and he gestured Harry and Ron forward. As soon as they had come along side him, he spoke again.

"I know that most of you have not had the privilege of meeting one of our magical friends before," he said. "That is partially my fault. Harry Truman was in office the last time that we brought wizards to the White House and he served the same vintage of pinot noir that we will be drinking tonight to toast our new friends. While we have been...remiss in extending the hand of friendship as of late, luckily, Misters Potter and Weasley stumbled upon this opportunity and became the first wizards to enter the presidential mansion since Abraham Lincoln met with the founders of the American Wizarding Union in 1862..."

There was one thing that reminded him of home. The man knew almost as much useless information as Hermione.

"...And so," President Bartlett concluded, "we hope that this will be the first step in reestablishing excellent diplomatic relations between our two kinds."

"Hear, hear," Lord Marbury called out and the others agreed.

"I won't bore you with more details," President Bartlet added. "We'll have plenty of time for that later. For now, let's eat."

The President was as Muggle as they came, but he still knew the magic words.


	3. Chapter 3

"I can't believe you started without me," Abby said accusingly. "I _said_ I'd be home for dinner."

"My apologies," Jed said lightly. "I have a phone call with the Prime Minister of Canada at eight and I didn't want to be interrupted."

"Excuses, excuses," she muttered, shrugging off her jacket. "Where are they?"

It was typical of Abby to forget such pleasantries as reporting on her outing to Shenandoah National Park and asking how he was doing as long as there was someone more entertaining in the room. At least, she seemed to treat foreign visitors as if they were artifacts in a museum; Jed could be fawned over by someone else until she was done.

"Misters Potter is the one next to CJ and Mister Weasley is sitting between Toby and Director Graves of the American Wizarding Union."

"Huh," Abby said, scrutinizing them with an approving air. "They look perfectly normal, Jed. Are you _sure_ they're wizards?"

"I don't know," he teased. "Would you like to see their popping-out-of-thin-air trick again? The Secret Service gave rave reviews of it last night."

She threw him a slightly withering look and proceeded to Toby's end of the table. Ron had the good graces to stand up in the presence of the First Lady and bowed somewhat formally as she extended a hand.

"I'm Abby Bartlet," Abby said genially. "I don't think we've been introduced yet."

"Ronald Weasley," the redhead responded after swallowing a large mouthful of food. "A pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine," Abby said dryly. "Are you enjoying your stay in the States?"

Jed headed back to his seat to find that CJ and Harry were discussing, of all things, the merits of an electric stove.

"Much neater," Harry commented. "If I had to cook the old-fashioned way, I wouldn't want to be messing around with something combustible."

"I completely agree," CJ murmured. "I had a cousin who singed off his eyebrows trying to light a gas stove."

Jed had the distinct impression that this was not the conversation that CJ had intended in the first place, but that it was the only real common ground the two seemed to have.

"What do you mean by old-fashioned?" Jed asked.

Harry looked vaguely discomfited as if he had slipped up in some way. "I beg your pardon," he said politely. "I meant without using magic."

"You can just...conjure up a dish of ice cream, then?" Josh interrupted avidly. "Man, that would save me some gas money."

"You can't make food appear out of thin air," Harry corrected. "It's one of the few things that can't just be magicked into existence. I do know a few handy spells to make cooking go quicker."

Josh nodded appreciatively. "I bet the girls love _that_," he sighed.

"Not really," Harry replied. "My wife grew up with the world's greatest cook for a mother. She thinks my cooking's funny."

With the two men safely on that subject, Jed turned to CJ. "I think this is going well," he commented to CJ. "Don't you?"

She still had the slightly shell-shocked look of someone who had been subjected to a very cruel and ongoing trick. He suspected that the effect would last until some time after she had gone home.

"Yes, it's delightful," she said flatly. "You still haven't told me what I'm expected to say if this comes up in the press briefing."

"Come now," Jed said, smiling across her at Harry. "What self-respecting member of the White House press corps would accuse us of having wizards over for dinner?"

"I don't know," she deadpanned. "InStyle has press credentials. Why not the _National Enquirer?"_

"Not a bad idea," he said in kind, winking at Abby as she took the vacant chair next to him. "I think they'd be quite interested to know what we were planning with the American Wizarding Union."

Currently, the only thing they were planning was a conference on magical law enforcement practices that could be applied to non-magical divisions such as the FBI. The _Enquirer _wouldn't be interested in those details so much as the fact that wizards might be in the White House and, god forbid, brainwashing the president.

"I think you should leak it to them just to see what they would say," Abby suggested with a smirk. "What do you think, Harry?"

"What exactly is the _National Enquirer?" _he asked.

"A magazine that specializes in informing the world about our top-secret conspiracies about aliens and how I really have three heads and sixty wives," Jed explained.

Harry laughed at that and called across the table to his friend. "Ron," he announced, "they've got a_ Quibbler _here."

"Brilliant!" Ron said enthusiastically. "I wonder if they've found any blibbering humdingers."

"I don't know," Harry chuckled, "but President Bartlet thinks they might be worried if it got out that we were here. What do you reckon?"

"I reckon I could Obliviate anyone he needs me to," Ron suggested.

At the general look of confusion, he added a note of explanation. "I could make him forget it ever happened," he stated.

"If it goes well," Harry countered. "Last time, the bloke forgot that he had stumbled into a top-secret meeting, but kept getting lost and ending up at the meeting place instead of home."

"As I remember," Ron sniffed, "you were doing the Obliviating that time around.."

Before they could come up with an idea that might cause a national scandal, Jeb cleared his throat. "You said that you were going to play tourist tomorrow, correct?"

"Yes," Ron called back. "I want to go see that Washington Monument. Mum's told me all about him."

It was curious that a British-born witch would teach American history, but it was good to know that Mr. Weasley was well-rounded.

"There's actually a hidden department in the Smithsonian," Director Graves pointed out. "It deals exclusively with magic artifacts and I could arrange a viewing for all three of us."

"Hermione would die of envy," Ron sighed.

"We'd appreciate that," Harry translated.

"I was thinking of lending you a tour guide," Jed added. "Someone who knows this city inside and out. Sam?"

Sam looked up with a distracted expression from his chicken cacciatore. "Hmmm?"

"Toby can do without you for a day," Jed proposed. "How would you like to be our guests' escort around the capital tomorrow?"

Josh, Toby and Leo all got slightly alarmed expressions on their face at that idea. He couldn't imagine why—Sam Seaborn was nearly as great a repository of useless information as Charlie accused his boss of being.

"He'd be delighted," Abby answered before Sam could make an excuse. "Wouldn't you, Sam?"

"Absolutely," Sam said with a nervous grin.

"Excellent," Director Graves said. "You can meet them at the AWU headquarters on M Street at ten. I'll see that all is prepared by then."

"Just so long as they are delivered to the Embassy at six," Lord Marbury added. "I have a few friends from our side of the pond who would be thrilled to make your acquaintance."

"It sounds as if you have a busy day," Jed commiserated. "We'll let you get to bed after dessert, but first..."

On cue, Charlie stepped forward and handed him two flat boxes. Jed stood and straightened his shoulders officiously.

"This has been a wonderful evening and I'm glad we ran into each other last night..."

He waited for the chuckling to die down and then beckoned for Ron and Harry to join him.

"I don't like to send friends off without a parting gift," he informed them once they had taken their places, "so I hope you'll accept these small tokens of our appreciation for coming to visit."

They unwrapped them to find two pens and pieces of cardstock.

"The pens were used to sign last year's 14th American Treaty on Magical Cooperation," he said. "It is by that treaty that we were able to keep my friends in security from sending you immediately to jail. As for the other..."

"Plane tickets?" Ron guessed enthusiastically. "Is that what they look like?"

"Yes, indeed," Jed chuckled. "While we have great admiration for your ability to travel great distances by magic, we'd like to make things easy on you and give you a safe trip home."

"Besides," Josh called out, "I'm pretty sure Her Royal Majesty wouldn't have as much of a sense of humor about you landing in Buckingham Palace."

"Quite so," Lord Marbury agreed.

"Thank you, sir," the two wizards chorused.

Ron shot Harry a pointed look and Harry returned to his seat to retrieve a large box. "We have a similar policy," Ron announced. "We got these things in America, but they were invented by my brothers in Ottery Saint-Catchpole."

Jed unwrapped the box to find an assortment of alarming-looking things labeled as "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes" and bearing names such as "Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder" and "Decoy Detonators." They sounded as if they were the things you might want for a ninth-grade prank, a CIA mission or possibly a combination of the two.

"Thank you kindly," Jed said politely. "If you could explain each one's function over the crème brulee, I'd appreciate it."

"Absolutely," Harry said.

Jed nodded approvingly and shifted the box to his left arm. "We'll take that in the sitting room," he suggested, "and Sam can plot how to best entertain you there."

Ron grinned and pocketed his gift. "Lead on, Mr. President."


End file.
